


I'll Tell You My Sins

by waroftheposes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waroftheposes/pseuds/waroftheposes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams have the power to mess you up. At least, they do when you keep dreaming yourself as a drunk from the 19th century.</p><p>A somewhat reincarnation AU written for the Les Mis Trick or Treat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Tell You My Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [phantaire](http://www.phantaire.tumblr.com/)/[villierscy](http://villierscy.tumblr.com/phantaire) for the Les Mis Trick or Treat 
> 
> I tried to combine the two prompts that they asked for. So it's hurt/comfort modern stuff but has canon things in it. I hope they like it!

_Grantaire first noticed that his hands were not cooperating._

_He felt light in his peripheral vision and looked up to find a blurry Enjolras. Grantaire blinked to bring him in focus and heard voices getting louder and louder._

_When his vision cleared, the voices were overwhelming._

_Chatter everywhere. Grantaire’s head thumped as if there was a drum inside and Enjolras…_

_Enjolras looked pissed._

_If Grantaire had been holding something, he would have dropped it._

_Enjolras’ eyes, full of loathing. The voices, loud. So loud. Grantaire could scream._

_His hands were trembling. He looked down at them and when he looked up, Enjolras had moved closer._

_Enjolras’ mouth moved and slowly his words washed over Grantaire._

_“That’s enough!” The words were like ice water, running down Grantaire’s back. “You’ve had too much to drink.”_

_Drink? Grantaire didn’t drink. He tried to tell Enjolras that, but the words wouldn’t form in his mouth._

_With one last disappointed look at Grantaire, Enjolras turned and walked away._

_Grantaire couldn’t call out to him. He couldn’t. Couldn’t speak. His vision fixed on Enjolras and everything else dimmed. The voices became muffled, the light faded until the only thing visible was Enjolras’ hair._

_And then that was gone too._

_And Grantaire was falling._

_—_

He woke up with a gasp. 

His legs were tangled in the sheets and he was heaving for breath. Next to his hand, his grey cat, Louis, had raised his head and was glaring at him.

“A dream,” he whispered to Louis. “Nothing but a dream.” Louis blinked and turned his head.

Grantaire lay back on his bed, but sleep didn’t come. His heart was beating loudly in the silent room and he couldn’t make the panic leave his body. He’d had a dream, but it had been such a realistic dream that it had left an impression on his mind. He sat up again after fifteen minutes of tossing and turning and turned on his bedside light. He thought perhaps if he wrote the dream down, if he channeled it out, he would feel well enough to go back to sleep. There were several empty notebooks in his bedside drawer. He picked one at random and began writing down the dream.

After, he did feel well enough to sleep, but the dream stayed with him throughout the day. He felt odd at work and in the afternoon when he went to his studio to paint, he could only paint Enjolras’ face from the dream. 

He was invested in the painting though, so preoccupied by it, that he barely felt the passage of time. When his phone chimed and he looked up, the sun had set and someone (probably the caretaker) had turned on the lights in his studio. 

Grantaire shook himself, trying to ease back into the real world, then checked his phone. He’d received a text from Feuilly, asking whether he was up for hanging out that night. Grantaire looked back at the unfinished painting of Enjolras and sighed. He wasn’t, not really, but he thought it better to go out with friends than spend the night alone with his cat, overthinking every aspect of a very disturbing and short dream. 

He sent a quick yes to Feuilly, cleaned up, and grabbed his jacket. Making sure all the lights were turned off, he looked back towards the painting, sitting there in the dark, and closed the door. 

It took him fifteen minutes to walk to the bar from his studio, and by the time he got there, his friends were already settled in. He went straight to the bartender and ordered food, trying to steel himself for human interaction as he waited for his food to be made.

The bar wasn’t very crowded on a Tuesday night, so the food was delivered to him faster than his pep talk to himself worked, and he had to put on a smile as he walk to his friends that he hoped they all took as genuine.

Their enthusiastic greetings as he sat down made him feel somewhat better. It was enough to ease him into a conversation with Joly about his current projects at the gallery and his own independent paintings.

He was pretty relaxed by the time Enjolras sat down next to him. He felt himself freeze for a second, scared of a reprimand, which was stupid. He turned and smiled at Enjolras, kissing his cheek briefly in greeting.

“How was your day, leader?” he asked.

Enjolras smiled back. “It was alright, I had a class and then I went to the children at Sainte Marie.”

“How were the children?” 

Enjolras shrugged. “They were ok, I mean no worse than usual. Little Jean cried for half an hour though, he didn’t want to do his homework.” Grantaire snorted and Enjolras slapped his arm half-heartedly. “How are you?”

Grantaire looked away, considering whether or not he should tell Enjolras about his dream. The dream was still very much affecting him, but he didn’t feel up to telling Enjolras. He didn’t know how to convey the emotions and the fear that he felt properly. When he opened his mouth to tell Enjolras about the dream, the image of Enjolras’ angry face, the idea that Enjolras might have a similar reaction if told of the dream, stopped him from speaking. 

When he looked back at Enjolras, he knew that his grin looked fake, and he knew also that if he allowed Enjolras any time, Enjolras would ask him about it. So he began talking.

“My day was fine. I started a new painting. It completely consumed my attention, I still feel kind of like I’m in a fantasy world.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “You say that every time you start painting.”

“I say it because it’s true,” Grantaire responded, reaching out and grabbing Enjolras’ hand. “You’ll never guess the subject though.”

“I’m not biting,” Enjolras responded breezily. “You won’t tell me anyway until it’s finished.”

Grantaire nodded and turned his attention to the rest of their friends. A moment passed and he felt Enjolras’ head on his shoulder. He kissed it quickly, letting go of Enjolras’ hand to put his armaround Enjolras’ shoulder and pull him closer. He heard Enjolras sigh.

“Listen, what is your schedule like tomorrow?” Enjolras asked quietly a while later.

“Gallery in the morning, nothing in the afternoon. I might go back to that painting, why?” 

Enjolras raised his head. “Do you want to come with me to Sainte Marie? I think the kids would benefit from an art lesson.”

Grantaire nodded. “Sure, I’d love to.”

Enjolras smiled and put his head back on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’ll call you for lunch.”

“You wanna sleep over?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras didn’t sleep over much; his apartment was much closer to his university than Grantaire’s, but he occasionally humored Grantaire enough to spend the night. 

Enjolras groaned in response. Grantaire rested his cheek on Enjolras’ curls and rubbed his back soothingly for a few seconds, until Enjolras spoke.

“I’d love to,” he said. “But tomorrow is Wednesday.”

“Ugh,” Grantaire responded, “your early class.”

“Ugh,” Enjolras agreed.

“Oh well,” Grantaire said, and resumed rubbing Enjolras’ back. 

“At least I won’t have to share a room with the demon spawn,” Enjolras responded, raising his head and glaring.

“Hey you watch your mouth, Louis VII is an angel,” Grantaire said, pretending to be affronted. 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Nothing named Louis could ever be an angel.”

His tone startled a laugh out of Grantaire and when Grantaire looked at him, he saw Enjolras was smiling too. 

“Tomorrow night I’ll sleep over,” he said, slowly standing up and saying goodbye to all their friends. 

Grantaire stood up too, he could at least walk halfway home with Enjolras and not have to say goodnight so early.  

Enjolras grabbed his arm as they walked out and talked about his law tutor for most of the walk. Grantaire hummed at the right moments, happy to listen to him talk about mundane things. 

He kissed Enjolras good night for way too long and stared at him as he walked away until Enjolras disappeared. Then he turned and walked home. He felt much better, the residual bad effect of the dream was entirely gone.

—

_Cold water splashed on Grantaire’s face and he opened his eyes, spluttering, and stared into the concerned faces of Bossuet and Joly._

_“You’re awake,” said Joly, his voice more melodious than normal. “We were worried you would not wake up.”_

_Next to him, Bossuet nodded._

_Grantaire stared at them, at their period clothes and candlelit faces, and stayed silent. Bossuet put a hand on his shoulder._

_“Would you like us to take you home?”_

_He shook his head, or rather, he felt his head shaking although he had not made the conscious decision to shake it._

_“Take him home,” came Enjolras’ voice from behind Joly and Bossuet. Grantaire recognized it immediately, though the anger startled him. “He’s no use to us here.”_

_Grantaire heard himself object in a slurred voice. “I’m much help here, I provide entertainment.”_

_Enjolras appeared from behind Joly, pushing both him and Bossuet out of the way and looking at Grantaire disdainfully. “You provide entertainment we do not ask for,” he said sitting down across from Grantaire._

_“Let me help,” Grantaire heard himself say softly._

_Enjolras sighed after a moment of silence, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “You cannot help, you are drunk.”_

_Grantaire startled, but still, he spoke. “I can help even while drunk.”_

_Enjolras stood up suddenly._

_“Grantaire, do something for me.”_

_“Yes?” Grantaire said._

_“Go home.” The words were said with such force, that if Grantaire had been standing, he would have stumbled backwards. Even now, he felt himself stumbling, falling, falling. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth to scream, but once again no words came out. He had no control over his own body, no way to drag himself out of his predicament. When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting across from Enjolras._

_“What about me,” he was saying to Enjolras. “I am here.”_

_“You?”_

_Grantaire was gesturing to himself. “I—”_

_“You indoctrinate republicans! You warm up hearts that have grown cold in the name of principle!” Enjolras responded passionately._

_Grantaire shrugged. “Why not?”_

_Enjolras sighed audibly. “Are you good for anything?”_

_Grantaire felt his heart break, yet he put on a smile. “I have a vague ambition in that direction,” he responded._

_Enjolras glared at him. “You do not believe in anything.”_

_If only he knew. “I believe in you.”_

_Enjolras sighed again and looked away. When he looked back at Grantaire, there was determination in his eyes. “Grantaire, will you do me a service.”_

_Grantaire felt hope bloom in his chest. “Anything. I’ll black your boots.”_

_But what was he saying? How could he say such things to Enjolras? How could Enjolras be so cruel to him? He felt the words leave his mouth, but with every word felt as sharp as a needle. And then Enjolras spoke._

_“Don’t meddle with our affairs. Go home, sleep yourself sober from the absinthe.”_

_Hurt and anger clawed their way into his chest as quickly as the hope had, and replaced everything with bitterness._

_“You are an ingrate, Enjolras.”_

_He looked away then, not wanting see Enjolras or hear his response. He wished more than anything, that he could control his words, his limbs, his feelings, and yet, every move he made seemed pre-determined. When he closed his eyes without deciding to, Grantaire gave in._

_He opened them again to a changed setting, but again, there was Enjolras._

_Enjolras was yelling._

_His words were unintelligible to Grantaire, but Grantaire knew that the anger was directed at him. He felt small and scared and, at that moment, knew that he would do anything to be away from Enjolras and that fierce, painful anger._

_He stood up and turned, ignoring Enjolras and walking for a century until he entered a bar. The bartender, a fat man whose face had hopefully seen better days, took one look at him, rummaged underneath the counter, and put a green bottle and glass in front of Grantaire. Grantaire nodded at the bartender and poured the green liquid into the glass._

_He emptied the glass with one swig, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat and settle into his stomach. Warmth spread throughout his body._

_Grantaire poured himself another drink._

_And another._

_Until his world went black._

_—_

He woke up quietly and turned on his back, looking at his ceiling. Louis was breathing softly next to his head, a stark contrast to Grantaire’s thundering heart. He laid in his bed for a few wretched breaths, trying to process what he had seen. His hand automatically reached for the notebook he’d left on his nightstand. Then he sat up, turned on the bedside light, and began writing. When he’d written what he remembered of the dream, he put away the notebook.

The cat was sleeping next to him and he could hear the ticking of his grandmother’s old clock on the other side of the wall. He needed to sleep, but Grantaire knew he wouldn’t be able to after that dream.

What the hell was that?

For the first time in his life, Grantaire could recall powerful colors in his dream. Colors and feelings, feelings so strong that, after having woken up, he couldn’t shrug them off.

The clock read 3:08 AM when Grantaire left his bed and started rummaging under his cupboard for whatever booze might be there. There would be no absinthe, because Grantaire didn’t drink regularly, but there might be _something_ , something to help ease his mind, something to help him forget the acrid taste of his dream.

He found white wine, because of course, but at least the bottle was full. He found a clean cup in the drying rack and filled it up with the fluid. 

He thought of Enjolras’ angry tone as he drained the first cup. 

He was already tipsy when he poured himself another and the burn he felt as he drained the second cup hurt almost as much as Enjolras’ rejection in the dream had. 

His hands shook as he poured himself another drink. His head was swimming, and he knew he would be losing his balance if he didn’t sit down. He closed his eyes and slowly slid down the side of the cupboards with the cup held in one hand. 

What the hell kind of idiot dreamed himself in the 18th or 19th or whatever century with his boyfriend yelling insults at him left and right?

Grantaire didn’t want to understand what the dream said about him, he didn’t want to think about what it revealed about his character.

He drank the last cup.

—

Grantaire woke up to a pounding on his door and pain in his shoulder. He ignored the pounding, but it didn’t go away. Whoever was knocking on his door was insistent.

He opened his eyes and immediately closed them again. Light. Way too much light.

Also his head hurt. Because he was a fucking idiot who drank a full bottle of wine at 3:00 AM on a weeknight. Also his shoulder hurt, because somehow he had fallen asleep on his kitchen floor. 

Grantaire groaned. The door kept on pounding. He yelled at it, which thankfully made whoever was knocking stop. 

Grantaire stood up, had to steady himself for a minute, and shuffled towards the door. 

He opened the door to find Enjolras: eyes wild, hair sticking out everywhere, with his hand already up to knock again.

Enjolras sighed in relief at the sight of him and dropped his hand.

“Oh thank god,” he said and threw his arms around Grantaire, hugging him tightly. 

“Ok.” Grantaire said, wrapping his arms around Enjolras slowly. He looked at Enjolras quizzically when Enjolras let go. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Am I..?” Enjolras began and ow, that hurt, it was way too loud. “He asks whether _I’m_ feeling alright,” Enjolras finished just as loudly. 

“Yes, you,” Grantaire said, rubbing his temples. It hurt entirely too much. “Also please lower your voice.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at Grantaire and walked past him into the apartment. Grantaire closed the door, following Enjolras into the living room and sitting next to him on the sofa. 

Enjolras looked him over and sighed. 

“Grantaire what the hell happened to you?” he asked, and his voice was filled with so much worry that Grantaire almost forgot about the horrible Enjolras in his dream.

“Excuse me?” He didn’t understand Enjolras much, his head hurt also, and his mouth tasted like sawdust. 

“You look like shit,” Enjolras said, brushing a hand against Grantaire’s cheek. “And we’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“All day?”

Enjolras nodded.

“Shit, what time is it?” He asked.

“Six,” Enjolras answered.

“Please say in the morning. Six—”

“PM,” Enjolras said slowly.

“I’ve been sleep all day?” Grantaire asked, panic starting to stir in the pit of his stomach. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Enjolras stopped himself and took a deep breath. “Grantaire, I’ve been worried sick about you. You didn’t show up to the gallery, you wouldn’t answer anyone’s calls. I was knocking for ten minutes before you shouted the response. I was about to call the police or something.”

Grantaire gasped.

“What happened?” Enjolras asked so kindly that it broke Grantaire’s heart.

He couldn’t though. He couldn’t tell Enjolras about the horrible images of himself and of Enjolras. He didn’t want to worry Enjolras with silly dreams.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked rubbing his back gently. 

Grantaire took a deep breath and let it go shakily, getting ready to lie. 

“Nothing. I guess I overslept.”

Enjolras gave him an “I’m not fooled” look, but remained silent.

“Really, I must have been really tired.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “So you slept for what, eighteen hours?”

Grantaire shrugged.

“You think I can’t tell when you’re lying to me?” Grantaire looked at Enjolras and saw frustration.

He shrugged again. 

Enjolras stood up and walked to the kitchen. Which is presumably where he saw the empty bottle of wine because next thing Grantaire knew, Enjolras had planted himself firmly on the sofa next to Grantaire and was holding the empty bottle in front of him.

“Ugh,” Grantaire said before Enjolras could demand answers.

“Did you drink all of this last night?” Enjolras asked incredulously.

“At three in the morning,” Grantaire said, leaning back on the sofa with a sigh and putting an arm over his face. The lack of light helped somewhat with his headache.

A laugh escaped Enjolras. “You drank this whole bottle at three in the morning?”

“Enjolras please, not so loud,” Grantaire groaned.

“You’re fucking hungover?” Enjolras asked, and that was bad, when he began to say the word fuck, it meant something had gone wrong.

“Yes, I’m fucking hungover Enjolras, that’s what happens when you drink that much alcohol at once,” Grantaire hissed.

“But why?” Enjolras asked after too much silence. “Why would you do that?”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras from under his arm. Enjolras didn’t look angry. He looked concerned and Grantaire felt like an asshole.

He sighed.

“I had a nightmare,” he said, expecting Enjolras to scoff at the silliness of it. 

Enjolras didn’t scoff though. He settled himself more easily on the sofa and put his head on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, tell me about it?”

Grantaire swallowed. 

“I can’t, Enjolras,” he said, voice shaking. He put his arm around Enjolras and rested his own head against Enjolras’ hair. “I just can’t.”

“But, maybe I can help.”

“You can’t,” Grantaire replied.

“But… if it’s something that drove you to drinking that much…” Enjolras started but he didn’t finish the sentence. Grantaire let the conversation die out and closed his eyes.

“I want to help you,” Enjolras said a while later.

“Enjolras, you can’t,” Grantaire sighed. He sat up and stretched. “Look it was just a stupid dream, I’ll get over it, I promise.”

Enjolras nodded and looked around, though he seemed unconvinced. At least he changed the subject.

“I was gonna sleep over tonight, but I was so worried I neglected to bring my things for tomorrow when I was running over.” 

“I’m sorry you were worried,” Grantaire said softly.

Enjolras shook his head and stood up. “No, no it’s ok.” He extended his arms towards Grantaire. Grantaire took the offered hands and let Enjolras pull him to his feet and into a soft kiss. He closed his eyes, thinking it cute—as he always did—that Enjolras had to tip his head up to kiss him. 

“I’m just glad that you’re ok,” Enjolras said pulling away. “I’m sorry I can’t stay the night.”

“Are you leaving right now?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras nodded. “Yea, I mean you’re all,” Enjolras gestured at him. “That. I should leave and let you shower and eat and—” Enjolras stopped and seemed to consider something then, “Actually on second thought, I’m gonna get you a cup of water, you go get ready for a shower, and we’re going to order dinner.”

Grantaire felt his heart jump at that. “Enjolras, you don’t have to,” he said breathlessly. “I can take care of myself.”

Enjolras smiled. “Yeah, but I’m worried and I just realized it’s better if I just stay and take care of you.”

Grantaire smiled back at him and opened his arms. Enjolras pushed himself into Grantaire’s arms and Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras. “You’re actually the best boyfriend. Did you know that?”

Enjolras hummed and tipped them back on the sofa. 

Grantaire held him for a bit longer, trying to let the warmth of Enjolras take away the terrible feelings of both the dream and his hangover.

—

_Alone._

_Grantaire startled into consciousness suddenly and found himself alone in a dimly lit room. Around him there was clutter. Clothes thrown everywhere and empty wine glasses arranged in pyramids and cylinders all around his floor._

_Next to his head, he found a note. He focused on it with difficulty. It was written in a horrible scrawl._

_“R,” the note read. “When you come to, make sure you find food. Enjolras was very unhappy with your behavior last night and Courfeyrac ordered me to tell you that if you show up to our meetings only to aggravate him, please refrain from showing up in the future. Bossuet and I are having lunch at our usual place today, please join us.” The letter was signed with a capital J._

_Grantaire read it, then reread it._

_His stomach growled at him._

_He glared at it. Stood up and went to find Joly and Bossuet before it was too late._

_—_

This time when Enjolras found him, he wasn’t hungover. This time he was still drunk.

“Grantaire, what the hell is happening? Just, talk to me about it please,” Enjolras said frantically, stroking a hand through his hair and forcing a cup of water into his hand. 

Enjolras had shown up that morning just to check up on Grantaire before he had to go to school, but he’d found Grantaire sitting on his couch, a drink in one hand and the notebook he’d been keeping as a dream journal in the other. When Enjolras had reached out to take the notebook from him, Grantaire had shaken his head frantically.

Now they were sitting together on the same couch, with Grantaire’s head in Enjolras’ lap. Enjolras had decided to not go to school, despite Grantaire’s complaints, and was talking to an unresponsive Grantaire now.

He felt like absolute shit. He’d missed work again, the second day in the row. The good news was that the people at the gallery didn’t need his help full time, and Enjolras kindly told him that they were made aware that Grantaire was “sick.” Still. Two straight days of doing nothing but drinking and sleeping and having nightmares.

Grantaire felt like dying.

“I have nothing to say,” he groaned in response to Enjolras’ earlier plea.

“Bullshit,” Enjolras replied, pulling slightly on Grantaire’s hair. “It’s something and you need to tell me.”

Grantaire turned his head on Enjolras’ lap so he could stare up at Enjolras’ face. “And why do I need to tell you?”

Enjolras sighed in frustration. “Because, as your boyfriend, it is my job to take care of you, both emotionally and physically.”

Grantaire groaned and buried his head in Enjolras’ knee. How could he tell Enjolras about his dreams? Those vivid and gruesome images that refused to leave him, even during the day. He couldn’t tell this supportive, beautiful man that he dreamt about him being emotionally abusive and distant every single night.

Enjolras would think he was going crazy.

Grantaire was sure he was going crazy himself.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally. He meant to sound sure of himself, but the words rang hollow in his ears and they would ring just as hollow to Enjolras.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras began, starting to massage Grantaire’s shoulders. “How can you say that when you’ve been unable to leave your house for the past two days? If you keep drinking like this, you’ll turn into an alcoholic,” he paused for a second, “and lose your job,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

“That’s fine,” Grantaire said and felt Enjolras lightly hit him on the head.

“Don’t be stupid, Grantaire,” Enjolras said softly. “No point giving up on life because you’ve had a few sick days.”

“Sick?” Grantaire asked incredulously. “Enjolras I haven’t been sick,” he continued, sitting up and looking at Enjolras. “I’ve been _drinking._ Drinking so much that I literally cannot function.”

Enjolras looked away and sighed. “Yea, I know,” he said in a quiet voice. “I just—”

“You just nothing. You’re trying to sugarcoat it to make yourself feel better,” Grantaire said bitterly. “But the truth of the matter is that I’ve missed work and studio time and other obligations for the past two days because I’ve been too hungover to function as a regular human being.”

Enjolras didn’t respond, he dropped his head and played with his fingers nervously.

“Enjolras look at me,” Grantaire said and when Enjolras didn’t do anything, he repeated himself. “Look at me, I’m a mess.”

Enjolras raised his head and looked at Grantaire dejectedly.

“Why are you here?” Grantaire asked dropping his voice. 

The “because I love you” is said with so much conviction and strength, that Grantaire forgot himself. “Because I love you and I want to take care of you and I want you to come out of this,” Enjolras gestured at Grantaire, “Whatever _this_ is, I want you to come out of it healthy if not happy.”

Grantaire sighed and leaned back on the couch.

“So talk to me,” Enjolras said, shifting to sit by his side and putting his head on Grantaire’s shoulder. 

“I just can’t,” Grantaire said miserably. “I can’t talk to you about it,” he continued, turning his head to kiss Enjolras’ head softly. 

“If you don’t talk to me then, how can I help?” Enjolras said, sounding defeated.

“You help just by being here,” he said, which was only half a lie. 

Enjolras sat up and smiled at him. “I’m going to make you food today,” he said standing up. 

“You are not allowed in the kitchen,” Grantaire said raising an eyebrow. He could feel the alcohol slowly leaving his system and he felt exhausted. A headache was beginning to brew just under his forehead. “If I’m gonna be hungover I can’t stop you when you set my kitchen on fire.”

 “Listen here,” Enjolras responded, pointing a finger at him. “I’ll have you know I make myself food every day and nothing has happened to my apartment yet.”

Grantaire stood up, grabbing Enjolras for support. “The important part of that sentence being ‘yet,’” he said, then smiled at Enjolras. “It’s alright love, you’re pretty and smart, you don’t need to be the perfect housewife—ow!” 

Enjolras huffed after hitting him and turned towards the kitchen. Grantaire watched him warm up soup and make eggs and did his best to think about nothing but the present.

Enjolras stayed the whole day. He left in the afternoon to get clean clothes and his things for the next day from his own apartment. He came back and they ordered dinner and the two of them went to bed that night at a reasonable hour. Calmed by the day spent with Enjolras, Grantaire figured he’d be spared the nightmare that night.

He was wrong.

—

He woke up shaking. Thankfully, Enjolras had managed to untangle himself from Grantaire enough that Grantaire’s startled shake into consciousness didn’t wake him up. Grantaire, by force of habit, reached for the notebook on his bedside table, turned on the lights and began writing.

 

_I saw him. He told me to go sleep off my absinthe somewhere else and the next thing I knew, he was standing still and there were men in uniforms, so many of them, and they had their guns pointed at him. They were gonna shoot him. Kill him, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t do anything but join him._

_He let me join him. Enjolras took my hand._

_I guess I could die happy if that happened now too._

 

Enjolras grumbled in his sleep and shifted to face the light just as Grantaire had finished writing, and the sight of his face made Grantaire want to flee. Quietly and carefully. he turned off the light and left the bed. He grabbed his keys without a thought, put on his shoes and a light jacket, and left his apartment.

He needed to walk.

—

He returned to his room some time later. After the cold air had calmed him down and taken away the urge to drown himself in alcohol. He silently opened the apartment door, left his keys on the kitchen counter, and walked into his room to see Enjolras awake, reading his dream journal.

Grantaire startled, swallowing the urge to panic. Enjolras looked up from the notebook, he was wearing his reading glasses and he looked tired. Silently, he patted the space next to him, and closed the notebook as Grantaire joined him on the bed.

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” were the words that came out of his mouth. “I didn’t realize I was a cause of stress.”

“Enjolras, you’re not,” Grantaire said immediately.

“I mean, not me,” Enjolras said, then paused. “Dream me, I’m sorry I’m being such a dick in your dreams.”

Grantaire groaned. “Yea it’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” Enjolras said and Grantaire looked away from him. “It’s not, look Grantaire, hey,” he said and grabbed Grantaire’s chin, turning his head, “hey look at me?”

Grantaire obliged.

“It’s not whatever, these dreams, they’ve been hurting you.”

Grantaire swallowed.

“And I understand, that you couldn’t talk to me about it, I understand why,” Enjolras said. 

Grantaire looked down at Enjolras’ fingers on his chin. “I don’t know why I’m having these dreams, you’re,” he stops, batted Enjolras’ hand away and took a deep breath. “You’re wonderful.”

“I’m not though,” Enjolras said softly. “I spend too much time on school and work and not enough time with you.”

Grantaire shook his head. “But you include me, in your school and your work, and I don’t mind that, Enjolras, I really don’t.”

Enjolras nodded and gave Grantaire a small smile, and Grantaire wondered when they had switched places from Enjolras comforting him, to the reverse.

“Look, you acting the way that you did in those dreams. They hurt, a lot. But it wasn’t how you behaved that set me off.”

“Then what was?” Enjolras asked.

“It was me. The way I was. The helpless feeling, the crushing loneliness. I was miserable in those dreams and I couldn’t do anything about it. All I could do was drink.” 

Enjolras nodded and Grantaire went on.

“And I was so afraid, so fucking afraid that I would become the person in my dreams.”

“You won’t,” Enjolras said with conviction. “You won’t become that person.”

Grantaire looked at him, not daring to trust in his words. “But I have the capacity to be that person.”

“And I have the capacity to be as terrible as I was in your dreams. No listen,” he said, and held up a hand when Grantaire opened his mouth to disagree. “I do, I really do. I could be terrible, I could be harsh and unfeeling. I could but I chose not to. We are presented with many choices in life and what we choose to do determines partially who we become. Just because someone has the potential to have a heart attack, doesn’t mean they will absolutely, without a doubt have a heart attack.”

Grantaire stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Just because you have the potential to be a sad, lonely drunk, doesn’t mean you will be one Grantaire. And trust me, you have spent twenty-five years not being one. Dreams won’t suddenly change the choices you’ve made in your life.”

“But—”

“I won’t let them,” Enjolras finished forcefully.

“But my mind made all of this up,” Grantaire said weakly, feeling the need to continue his arguement.

Enjolras shrugged and wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s shoulders. “Our minds make shit up. Doesn’t matter.”

Grantaire leaned into him and closed his eyes.

“I love you very much,” he mumbled into Enjolras’ shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I love you too,” Enjolras said, stroking his hair. “And I don’t care that you just dreamed that we were both executed by the French national guard.”

Grantaire smiled and kissed Enjolras’ shoulder.

“Go to sleep,” Enjolras said softly. Grantaire felt him lean over and turn off the light on the night stand. 

He didn’t have any more disturbing dreams that night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken shamelessly from "Take Me to Church"
> 
> My betas are amazing and I love them. 
> 
> And also Louis the cat is named that way purely to annoy Enjolras. 
> 
> (I'm here on [tumblr](waroftheposes.tumblr.com))


End file.
